


he smells like home ; and i smell like death

by orphan_account



Category: Tales of Xillia 2
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Obsessive Behavior, Underage Prostitution, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alvin treated himself to Duval's finest: guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he smells like home ; and i smell like death

**Author's Note:**

> the trinity: i have a cold, and i wrote this at 2am, and i probably wont edit it

Maybe if Alvin were a regular guy, he'd realize that thinking about kissing the hell out of a kid eleven years younger than himself was weird. But for as much as he wanted to be, Alvin wasn't _regular_.

 

Weird. Wrong. Fucked up. Sick, gross, rapacious, predatory. So many words to describe it- to describe _him_. Alvin tried each one on, and stared at himself in the mirror until he decided it didn't fit. Like the rest.

 

 

Nights were filled with what-ifs; his mind flicking back and forth between self-loathing and self-assuring. On the bedside table was a little imitation of one of Fennmont's streetlights. Jude put it there himself.

Alvin never touched it. Sacred. It was a sacred thing and the moment he touched it it would be dirty. He couldn't ruin something so precious, the manifestation of that sickly-sweet kindness that bored holes into Alvin's skull and burned his hands everytime Jude touched him.

Holy water.

 

He opened the table's drawer and dug his hand under his old scarf, finding Jude's old brown gloves tucked neatly where he'd left them. Stolen. He stole them.

_you're horrible._

He lifted them to his face and inhaled deeply, drawing in the last bits of Jude's warm scent that still permeated the fabric.

 

 

 

 _He doesn't hate you. Not now. Not now. He said, he said he_ doesn't.  _It's Jude. Jude would never lie. Never never never-_

_unlike yourself._

_But if he knew- if he knew he would hate you. Hate your guts. Like the rest of them._

 

 

 

It was there every time. Jude smiled up at the sky and Alvin could almost see it. Her hand reaching down to touch him.

 

 

Yesterday he moved to the couch. There was no light there. No mellow streetlamp glow to gently push away the darkness. No sign of Jude; none at all.

And Alvin slept for the first time in weeks.

 

 

After two months Alvin opened the door to his room. It creaked. There's dust on the sheets and the little lamp had gone out. He found himself taking out the gloves again. Staring hard at them as though everything was somehow their fault. He shook his head and buried his face in their familiar roughened surface. The scent made him so homesick he wanted to puke.

 

"Damn it kid, why did it have to be _you_?"

 

 

The next day Alvin burns them, and smiles at how fucking digusting he is.

 

 

Jude comes to visit. He gives Alvin a bottle of porange wine. Top-shelf. Moonlight.

When Jude's gone Alvin pours it down the drain.

 

 

Yurgen wonders when Alvin's stopped going out drinking on weekends with him like he used to. Alvin lies through his teeth and says he's laying off.

He goes home and chugs the vodka in the back of his cupboard and throws it all up hours later.

 

He starts to wonder what Jude's hair would feel like between his fingers.

He throws up again.

 

 

 

The next time Alvin jerks off it's to the idea of Jude choking down his cock.

_you're terrible, awful, vile._

 

 

 

 

He's started picking up boys. Cute, young boys with cute, young faces. Offers handsomely and leads them with the same hand that Jude let himself be led by, time and time again.

 _but that was before. before_   ** _this_**. _before you became this_ _monster._

He fucks them raw and leaves the money on the bed beside them. He wonders why they cry so much. He wonders if Jude would cry the same way.

He goes out and picks up another.

 

 

 

He stops working. Doesn't see people. Not Yurgen. Not Leia.

Not Jude.

He kicks down his bedside table and the imitation lamp smashes on the floor.

 

 

 

 

Alvin stops a lot of things after that.

Sleeping, eating,

 

_breathing._

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
